


I'm Sorry, But I'm Beginning to Hate Your Face

by Dangerousnotbroken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel has a lot of sex, Comedy of Errors, M/M, Masturbation, One Night Stands, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Roommates, Star Wars - Freeform, Stoner!Castiel, bottom!Dean, derelict motor vehicles, i wish I was making this up, mechanic!Dean, most of it isn't with Dean, most of these things happened in real life, until it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken
Summary: Dean signed up to be Castiel's roommate, and, apparently, his personal chef. He didn't sign on for sexual tension so intense it might make him spontaneously combust, and he certainly didn't  sign up to listen to the sounds of Castiel's sexual exploits through the paper-thin walls of the place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very sorry to inform all of you that an absurd number of the things that happen in this story are lifted nearly verbatim from things that happened to me in real life while renting a house with a friend in my early twenties. Some of this shit is too insane to have actually made up. When the final chapter is posted, I'll follow it up with a breakdown of the real life details that I've borrowed and embellished upon to write this fic. Enjoy!
> 
> My beta for this fic is the ever magnificent [KreweOfImp](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KreweOfImp), who wants me to throw her under the bus for "taking too long" to beta, but fuck that, she's awesome. 
> 
> Fic title from the song of the same name, performed by Eagle*Seagull

Dean’s hands twitch against the sheets, a grimace contorting his face as he tries to maintain at least _some_ sense of dignity. The headboard in the other room slams against the wall rhythmically, not quite drowning out the loud grunts and pleasured moans that fill the air. He doesn’t begrudge his roommate the noise. Roommate, landlord, friend. Whatever. A guy should totally be allowed to get laid. In any case, Dean’s not mad at the dude. Envy might be the word. Yeah. He’s definitely envious of said hookup. That’s the problem.

“ _Oh, fuck yeah,”_ someone groans from the other room, and shit, Dean is losing his cool, because it is one thing to know your roommate is in the other room all naked and sweaty with God only knows who but it is an entirely _different_ thing to hear it happening and get inexcusably, inappropriately turned on by the sound of it. Dean tries to tell himself that it could happen to anyone. It’s not like he’s fantasizing about his roommate. It’s _not._ He totally isn’t. It’s just, man, it’s been a while. Too long, really. And the sound of people fucking in the other room is so much different than the fake noises people make in porn. It’s not Dean’s fault he’s seen his roommate coming out of the bathroom when he thought no one was home and knows exactly what the guy looks like naked. It’s not Dean’s fault that his roommate’s headboard is lined up against their shared wall and the sound carries so well. It’s not Dean’s fault he has an overactive imagination and finds himself involuntarily picturing what’s happening in the other room right now. In vivid, meticulous detail.

It’s getting ridiculous, really. It’s Saturday, so Dean should have expected this. Castiel, his way-too-hot-for-his-own-or-anyone-else’s-good roommate slash landlord slash friend, always brings someone home on Saturdays. Dean has never actually seen any of these individuals, so he’s really got no idea if it’s always the same person and Cas has just never kept them around long enough to introduce him, or if it’s a flavour of the week and there’s no point in trying to keep track. But every single Saturday since Dean moved in, without fail, Cas goes to bed with someone, Dean hears every single sound, and—much to his own shame—he lies in bed trying to maintain the composure required not to touch himself.

Just to be clear, Dean is not some repressed soul who thinks he’s gonna go to hell for the ravages of sin. No. Definitely not. It’s just that, well, it’s one thing to accidentally-totally-without-meaning-to hear someone else banging, but it would be just totally, completely inappropriate to hear your roommate fucking (or getting fucked, Dean doesn’t know, he’s never actually asked if Cas is a top or a bottom, and it’s none of his goddamned concern, just for the record) and masturbate to it. That’s too far. It totally crosses a line.

The second they shut up though, if Dean happens to fire up his laptop, plug in some headphones, and fuck his fist to the dulcet tones and beautiful imagery of Pornhub Gay, well, that’s his business.

It wasn’t such a problem at first. When Dean first moved in and Cas was just some guy he was renting a room from, it didn’t really seem to matter. Okay, well, not renting, because money is not changing hands on this deal but like. Yeah. It didn’t make sense to Dean at first either but it works. Cas owns this old house across from the hospital, a single story thing with a chimney poking out the top, that shattered-glass stucco siding that Dean has never understood as a building material, and a yard that, frankly, should probably just be burnt to the ground rather than landscaped at this point. He doesn’t really like living alone although for whatever reason (he’s never really explained it to Dean) he doesn’t need the rent money, so he posted an ad for a roommate and Dean’s the guy that responded. And Dean may have turned up his nose at the knee-high grass swaying in the yard, dotted with thistles and looking dry and sere and desiccated. And he may have cast a side eye at the abandoned VW van in the driveway, wondering how long the thing had been sitting there for its tires to be _that_ flat and giving a shudder at the knowledge that the boxes stacked to the ceiling were probably full of rats. And he definitely wanted to know the story behind the doorless safe in the back yard. But all his misgivings kinda faded away when Cas explained that he wasn’t looking for rent.

“Look, here’s the thing,” he told Dean, his bright blue eyes heavily lidded from the haze of marijuana smoke he constantly strolled around in, his smile crooked. “I don’t cook. And I don’t need the rent. And I hate living alone. So you get my spare bedroom, and it’s not even that small so it’s a pretty good room, and in return, you do the lion’s share of the cooking and you buy the groceries and occasionally, if you’re feeling adventurous, you can even keep me company. You know, laugh at my jokes or whatever. It won’t even be that hard. I’m kinda funny.”

And considering Dean had been splitting rent with Sam for the last few years while he finished his undergrad and was only moving because Sam got into Stanford out in California and therefore didn’t really have a ton of disposable income, that sounded like a pretty good deal. So he overlooked the fact that the bathroom just had a pedestal sink and no counter to put his toothbrush on, and he pretended it didn’t bug him that there was probably an entire rodent colony in the van (which he still needs to ask about one day), and he moved into Castiel’s front bedroom.

Dean doesn’t mind the cooking. He’s pretty good at it anyway, and it means he gets to have whatever he wants for dinner most nights. And Cas is pretty damned appreciative of his meals too. It’s possible that it’s just because Cas is perpetually stoned and therefore perpetually hungry. But he never passes up an opportunity to tell Dean how much he enjoys whatever is on the menu.

That shouldn’t really come as a surprise, given Castiel’s roommate-wanted ad. Dean read a lot of those while he was trying to find a place to live when Sam moved, and most of the ads were the same. That is to say, they were boring. _Quiet chemistry student seeking quiet roommate to be quiet in my quiet apartment. No parties._ Or something equally exciting. And it’s not that he needed to find somewhere that was going to be mile a minute intrigue and excitement, but Dean had no desire to live with someone who had a stick up their butt. He needed fun or at least an environment that wouldn’t suffocate his desire to find it. So it’s only natural that out of many ads, Cas’ is the one that caught his eye.

_Can you cook? Do you like zombie movies? Does the idea of living on campus make you physically ill? Then I have a room for you. I own this house and I don’t really need a roommate but it’s way too quiet when I’m the only one living here. Must be willing to cook for me at least a couple nights a week. Vegans need not apply. I’m entirely serious about that. If you think you’re going to convince me that a veggie burger is just as good as ground beef you’re the wrong kind of crazy._

So when Dean makes burgers and Cas makes pornographic noises around mouthfuls of meat and cheese and bacon, Dean tries to pretend he doesn’t recognize those noises from Saturday nights, takes the compliment, and reminds himself that he is living here rent free and maybe, just maybe, he should invest in some ear plugs.

The fucking always stops eventually anyway.

~*~

Sunday morning, Dean sits at the kitchen table sipping his third mug of coffee and tries to control the urge to look up when the door to Cas’ room swings open. He manages to stifle his curiosity long enough to listen for the sound of the bathroom door latching, but all that tells him is that someone (possibly Cas) is up and about. A few minutes later, Cas strolls out in boxer shorts and a pair of fuzzy bear-foot slippers, yawning and stretching as he shuffles into the kitchen.

“Is there more coffee?” he asks blearily.

“There’s about a cup,” Dean informs him. “I can make more if you’ve got company still, though.”

“What? Oh, uh, no. Didn’t stick around.” Cas shakes his head like he’s dispelling a fog and shuffles over to the coffee maker, draining the carafe into one of the many novelty coffee mugs he favors so strongly. This particular morning he selects a mug with an adorable cartoon fox on the side, emblazoned with the words _For Fox Sake._ Cradling the mug in both hands, he makes his way over to the table where Dean sits, trying very hard not to stare at his naked chest and barely concealed crotch as he does.

“Sorry to hear that,” he offers, dropping his eyes to the newspaper splayed out on the table in front of him. Reading the paper is more habit than anything. He doesn’t really absorb much of it, but the act of sitting down with the paper on weekend mornings is so deeply ingrained in him that it’s never really occurred to Dean not to.

“I’m not,” Cas scoffs. “Saves me having to offer them coffee.”

Alright then. Not the same person every Saturday. Still not entirely sure if it’s guys or girls or a mix that Cas is messing around with, but it settles the question of whether he’s getting down with the same someone every time Dean has to pretend he’s not listening.

Maybe Dean should stop worrying about who his roommate is fucking and start putting some thought into his own sex life. Or, you know, the lack thereof. He’s an attractive guy, reasonably charming when he feels like it. And there have been enough positive reviews in his past that even if some were falsely inflated, he has reason to believe he’s pretty good in bed. Why the hell not go out and pick himself up someone to get acquainted with? There’s plenty of bars, what with this being a university town, and at least some of them are bound to have guys close to his age that are interested in a little bit of fun. It would be easy. He’d barely have to try.

He would, of course, spend the entire time knowing that his roommate could hear every single sound coming from his room.

Perhaps Cas would have less patience for it than Dean would. Maybe he’d bang on the wall. Maybe he’d bang on the _door_ , demand Dean shut the fuck up. Or maybe, and Dean knows even as he thinks of it that he’s beyond reaching here, but maybe Cas would just lie there and listen, pretending like he’s not listening. You know. Just like Dean does.

This is not what Dean should be thinking about while Cas is sitting there in his underwear, nursing a mug of coffee and…

Oh shit.

And talking to Dean.

“Sorry, what was that?” Dean asks. “I was daydreaming.” Yeah. Daydreaming. No need to mention what he’s daydreaming about.

“I asked if you could be convinced to make waffles,” Cas repeats, eyes still open such a tiny sliver that they might as well be closed.

“I could do that,” Dean replies. He was just going to have toast, but really, Cas is letting him live here rent free (and also apparently providing him with entertainment). Breakfast is the least he can do.

It’s kind of a Sunday tradition anyway, albeit unofficial. Dean makes all the meals anyway except on days that Cas decides he’s going to fend for himself and make a grilled cheese sandwich or cereal or canned soup or something. He’s basically incompetent when it comes to anything that happens in a kitchen. In any case, whether Dean makes all the meals or not, he definitely does Sunday breakfast. It’s always something bready and delicious, either pancakes or waffles or French toast. Sometimes he even does toast and hashbrowns and eggs. Basically, breakfast staples, in large quantities. Cas is appreciative regardless of what he cooks, but Sunday breakfasts are always Cas’ favourite. Perhaps he builds up an exceptional appetite during his Saturday night escapades (which Dean tries very hard not to think of) or maybe he just really, really likes maple syrup. Either way, it’s no surprise that it’s waffles on his mind right now.

Dean gets out the waffle iron.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's got plans. He does. Important plans. He will not be waylaid.
> 
> Except, of course, by Star Wars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're receiving a second notification about this chapter it's because SOMETHING went weird and what is supposed to be the 3rd chapter posted first and so I had to kill it with fire.
> 
> If you're NOT receiving a second notification and have no idea what I'm talking about, carry on as if you were normal. There is nothing to see here.

The following Friday, Dean resolves that he’s absolutely going to do it. He’s going to go out to a bar, find someone of a similar mind, and fuck their brains out. Or maybe let them fuck his brains out. He’s not really sure what way it’ll go down yet. Dean himself can go either way depending on the partner, or the day, or whether Saturn is in retrograde. Point is, Dean isn’t picky about positions. He’s plenty picky about who he fucks, he just doesn’t really have any hang-ups about who puts their dick in whose ass. The one line he draws is he’ll never bottom for someone who refuses to do it on the grounds that it _always hurts._ As far as Dean’s concerned, that’s a sure-fire way to tell who has absolutely no idea how to make sure the person they’re fucking has a good time, and he’d sooner go home and touch himself while resolutely _not_ thinking about his hot-as-hell roommate getting railed in the next room than he would fuck one of those assholes. Or, rather, get fucked by. Whatever. Semantics.

This is Dean’s plan right up until he’s putting dinner together. He scrubbed the grease off his hands before he started cooking, but as he stands over the stove simmering sausage to mix with pasta, he realizes he’s going to need to shower. There’s probably brake dust on his face. No, strike that. There’s definitely brake dust on his face. He’s sweaty as hell. And even if he didn’t look gross, anyone who got close enough to catch a whiff of him is most certainly going to decide they don’t want to get in his pants. Not like that’s going to take a ton of time or anything, but it does get him thinking about his plans for the evening. He didn’t really think much past the whole _go out, get laid_ angle. Where does one even go in this town to pick up a one night stand?

“Smells good,” Cas praises, clueing Dean in that he isn’t alone in the kitchen. He wonders how long Cas has been there. He wonders where Cas picks up his hookups. He asks about neither.

“Just pasta with sausage and vodka sauce,” Dean demurs. “Nothin’ fancy.”

“You had me at sausage,” Cas assures him. “Vodka doesn’t hurt though.”

“You always struck me as more of a beer drinker.” Dean drops the noodles into the boiling water and checks the sauce, adding a little salt before turning his attention back to the sizzling chunks of sausage. “Get a couple plates out for me, will you? This won’t be long.”

“I like beer. I like vodka too. And whiskey. And gin. And tequila. And hard cider. I like a lot of things.”

“Not your liver, apparently,” Dean jabs.

“You can be replaced, you know.” Cas hands him two plates, then turns to grab some cutlery out of the drawer. “I’m sure there’s plenty of other attractive mechanics who want to live here rent free and will be more than happy to laugh at my jokes.” His tone suggests seriousness, but when Dean turns around, there’s a playful grin on his face.

“True,” Dean shoots back, “but how many of them are going to make you dinners like this?” He chooses to ignore the part where Cas thinks he’s attractive, because he simply does not have the processing power for that right now.

Cas ponders the question for a moment, digging in the fridge for a couple of beers and setting them on the table. “Probably at least some of them. But you raise an excellent point. They’re unknown variables. Any number of other tenants could laugh at my jokes and occupy a room, but God only knows what their cooking skills are like. I could come out a winner if I replaced you, or I might find myself with someone who thinks heating up canned soup is haute cuisine. You’re safe…for now.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Dean sighs exaggeratedly. He strains the pasta and throws everything together, passing Cas one of the plates and keeping one for himself. When they sit down at the kitchen table, Cas attacks his dinner like it’s personally offended him.

“Oh my God,” he moans around a mouthful of food. “This is fucking amazing.”

“It’s nothing fancy,” Dean repeats.

“Fuck fancy. It’s delicious. Forget everything I said earlier, you are never allowed to leave.”

“Duly noted,” Dean replies, hiding a smug grin behind his beer. When he sets it down, he notices that despite the fact it’s only barely six pm, Cas is in pajama pants and a beat-up hoodie. “You staying in tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m feeling lazy. I’m supposed to meet some friends for drinks but I’m gonna bail and watch some movies. You wanna join me?”

And Dean has plans. He totally does. Okay, well, he has plan. Singular. Get laid. It’s a very poorly formed plan with no details whatsoever and certainly no hope of succeeding. And he and Cas are reasonably friendly for a couple of guys who have no connection except for their shared living situation, but they really don’t ever like, hang out. More than anything, they occupy common areas of the house at the same times and eat meals together on account of the fact that Dean pays rent by cooking food. So the polite thing to do, obviously, is to cancel his ill-formed plan (singular) and join his landlord slash roommate for some movies. It won’t even matter what those movies are, really, unless Cas is some weird art-house movie freak and expects him to sit through a David Lynch marathon or something. Dean watched Mulholland Drive once because this guy he was dating said it was the best movie he’d ever seen and he could not tell you for the life of him what that movie is even about. But anyway. Surely Cas isn’t going to be that guy. Dean should stay home and watch movies with him. He can go out and get laid a different night.

“Sure,” he answers, summarizing his entire mental gymnastics routine in a single word. “I got nothing going on tonight. Lemme just take a shower after dinner and you’re on.”

~*~

It’s not like Dean actually _cares_ what he looks like. It’s just a fucking movie in his goddamned living room. It counts for literally nothing and it’s not like he’s actually _trying_ to nail his hot roommate. Sure, he might fantasize about it a bit and he’s maybe harboring just a tiny little bit of a crush, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a crush. He’s got no plans to act on it. So no, Dean doesn’t put any effort into looking particularly sharp when he gets dressed. He doesn’t preen in front of the mirror to see exactly how well his jeans conform to his ass and he doesn’t change his shirt like six times before settling on his favourite Metallica concert tee. He sure as fuck doesn’t bother putting gel in his hair because why would he? He’s not even going anywhere.

He also doesn’t jack off in the shower.

Sidebar, Dean Winchester is a dirty, rotten liar, even when it’s only himself he’s lying to.

So anyway, Dean heads out to the living room in his totally not clinging perfectly to his ass jeans and his not exactly meticulously styled hair and his absolutely chosen at random shirt and parks his ass on the same couch he sits on every other time he hangs out at home. Cas doesn’t even look up when he walks into the room. Instead, his focus is entirely ensconced on the table in front of him, where he is carefully sprinkling finely chopped shreds of leafy greens into a rolling paper. He works meticulously, twisting and rolling the thin slip between his fingertips until it’s taut and secure. Dean should probably avert his eyes, but instead he stares openly as Cas’ tongue darts out to wet the glue on the paper. And it probably shouldn’t give him filthy thoughts about what other things that tongue could be licking but, well, it sure as fuck does.

Dean swallows hard, trying to remind himself what a fucking chill person might do in this instance, and it seems that the answer to that question is to interrupt the sexually charged silence with some kind of trivial conversation. Small talk. The weather; local sports teams; hell, politics or religion. Basically anything to keep Dean from drooling.

“Beer?” Dean asks, spitting out literally the first thing that comes to mind. It’s fortunate that it’s monosyllabic. Definitely a good test of his communication skills. Which, by the way, shouldn’t even _need_ testing because God, what is he, some kind of prepubescent idiot? It’s a movie. In his own damn home.

Dean needs to chill the fuck out.

“Beer would be awesome,” Cas replies, still not looking up from his handiwork. He’s rolling another joint now, although Dean has no idea why he feels the need to stockpile. The kitchen seems like a pleasant escape though, so Dean leaves him to it, using the time and the distance to maybe, just maybe, get a fucking grip.

“What the fuck, Winchester?” Dean asks of himself. “What are you, like, twelve?” He grabs two cold beers out of the fridge, discarding the caps on the counter, and steadies himself. It’s fine. He can do this. It’s just a goddamned movie.

As Dean steps back into the living room, he’s presented with the possibility that he might have possibly the best timing in the entire universe, because the exact moment at which he sits himself on the couch and sets a beer back in front of Cas is also the exact moment the opening credits start to crawl on A New Hope, and the trumpet fanfare that blares out of the speakers seems to announce the arrival of Dean and beer rather than bright yellow text.

“Thanks,” Cas mutters, picking up his beer and taking a swig. “Is Star Wars okay?”

“Is Star Wars okay?!” Dean repeats incredulously. “Is Star Wars _okay????_ Gee Cas, I don’t know, is bacon the perfect food?”

Cas laughs, not the somewhat silly giggle he tends to give up when he’s been smoking, but a full and throaty laugh. “Duly noted. Star Wars and bacon are good.”

“Well, I mean, yeah,” Dean agrees. “I can’t believe there was even a question.”

“You know, you’ve been living here for like six months but we really don’t hang out much. I imagine there’s a lot about you I don’t know.”

 _Yeah. Like the fact that I can hear you having sex basically every single weekend and also I have to actively try not to think about you when I touch myself_ , Dean thinks. Fortunately, he’s bright enough not to say it out loud.

“That’s probably true,” he muses instead. “Probably goes both ways.”

“That’s also likely. Suppose Star Wars is as good a way to get to know a person as any other.”

“How do you figure?” Dean inquires.

“Who shot first?” Cas posits in reply, a smirk on his lips.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Han Solo.”

“Good. See, if you’d said Greedo, then I’d know you were an idiot.”

Dean nods thoughtfully. “Fair point. Man, I can’t believe they went back and added fucking force-ghost Anakin at the end of Return.”

“Look,” Cas interjects somewhat sternly, “I know I don’t exactly have a lot of rules around here, but I’m going to have to insist that you never again mention those fucking added scenes in my presence. I consider myself a pretty laid back guy, but I will not hesitate to end you.”

“You know what, Cas? I think we’re gonna get along just fine.” Dean leans back into the couch and nurses his beer, resisting the urge to quote along with the dialogue as Princess Leia defies Darth Vader on screen. Cas chuckles just a little, smiling to himself as he tidies up the few scraps of weed he didn’t get rolled into his joints. Dean hears the telltale click of a lighter as Cas ignites one of his prizes, and soon the room is full of the pungent smell of smoke.

“You want some?” Cas asks, holding the joint out vaguely in Dean’s direction. He’s not even looking Dean’s way, just proffering the thing like he really doesn’t care one way or another if Dean chooses to partake or not. Dean supposes that makes sense; Cas would be smoking right now whether he had company or not.

Sure, Dean’s smoked weed before. The auto mechanic’s program at community college may not be high academia, but it’s still a campus setting, and it’s pretty fucking hard to spend the time required to get your ticket without encountering a few stoners. While he’s never felt the desire to play around with anything more illicit than that, he’ll admit freely that he enjoys a little bit of the green stuff from time to time. It chills him out. Forces him to calm down. But somehow, after living with Cas for half a year, he’s yet to actually hang out and smoke a joint with the guy.

“Sure, why not,” Dean replies, pinching the joint out from between Cas’ fingertips. Their hands brush just a little, incidental contact, and Dean tries not to think about how much more touching he’d like to do. He brings the joint to his lips, inhaling deeply and letting the sweet smoke fill his lungs, holding his breath for just a moment before exhaling. The head rush isn’t instantaneous, nor is it overwhelming, but it’s nice. He definitely doesn’t mind this.

“C-3PO is pretty fuckin gaudy, when you think about it,” Cas says as he takes the joint back. “If I was gonna design a droid, I’d make it way less flashy.”

“But exactly the same amount of poncey?” Dean laughs in reply.

“Well, I mean yeah. He’s a protocol droid. He’s _supposed_ to be rigid and poncey.”

“I like R2 better anyway,” Dean counters. “The whole tread roller thing isn’t practical for the desert, but that little droid doesn’t take anybody’s shit.”

“Truth,” Cas agrees. They fall silent for a while after that, passing the joint back and forth at regular intervals. Dean’s limbs start to feel a little bit heavy, a little bit loose, and he finds himself laughing at little things that he knows aren’t particularly funny. He’s also not freaking out about hanging around with the guy he’s lusting after anymore, either, which is a nice side effect.

About the same time Dean finishes his beer, Cas sets his empty bottle down on the table. “You want another one?”

“Sure,” Dean says. “Thanks.” Cas hauls himself off the couch and saunters into the kitchen while whistling the Imperial March. And Dean means to keep watching the movie while Cas fetches beer, he really does, but for some reason it’s just entirely impossible to peel his eyes away from Cas’ ass as he walks away, Super Mario pajama pants clinging _very_ closely, and, wait, is he even wearing underwear under those?

It’s at exactly this moment in time that Dean remembers that smoking pot has a pretty much 100% success rate at making him even hornier than usual.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, shooting a withering glance at his traitorous dick. It doesn’t take the hint, forcing Dean to surreptitiously adjust himself before there are other eyes in the room to catch him doing it.

“These are the last two cold ones,” Cas tells him. “I put some more in the fridge but they’ve been sitting in the pantry so it’s gonna be a while.”

“I think we’ll probably survive,” Dean assures him. He accepts his beer gratefully, careful not to touch Cas’ hand when he takes it less the minor skin on skin contact make him spontaneously combust. Has anyone actually ever died from sexual tension before? If Dean’s the first, maybe they’ll name it after him or something. He’s not exactly looking for that kind of posthumous honor but hey, if he’s gotta go, at least he’ll get his name on something.

Won’t his brother be proud.

Sam would laugh if he could see Dean now, melting into the furniture with his stoner roommate slash landlord slash crush. He’d laugh because back in high school, Dean was so far in the closet he probably smelled of moth balls, and now he’s practically drooling over a bed-headed stoner dude with cartoon mushrooms on his pants. Sam suggested once that Dean might not be entirely straight, and Dean laughed so hard he thought he was going to pull something. In retrospect, that probably should have been a sign that he should re-examine his life because he never laughs that hard unless it’s forced. He knows it. Sam knew it. Hell, half his graduating class probably knew it.

Whatever, he’s out now, and he gives zero fucks about that whole denial mess. Right now, he’s more focused on the fact that when Cas reaches his arms above his head to stretch, his shirt creeps up just enough to reveal the smooth skin of his stomach. It ought to be illegal or something. It’s just plain rude.

“What?” Cas asks abruptly.

Shit.

“Huh?” Dean asks, not even having to try that hard to feign stupidity, because his brain is feeling pretty damn slow right now.

“You were laughing. What’s so funny?”

“I was laughing?”

“Yes. Well, sort of giggling, I guess,” Cas informs him.

“Oh uh,” Dean offers cleverly. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what you were laughing at?” Cas repeats.

“I guess not,” Dean replies. “I didn’t realize I was laughing.” That much, at least, is the truth. “I forgot how relaxed I get when I smoke.” He forgot a lot of things that happen when he smokes, apparently.

“Lightweight,” Cas murmurs, but there’s no heat in it. At that moment, Dean notices Cas has the other joint held up to his mouth, lighter poised at the ready. “If I pass you this, are you gonna start drooling and forget your own name?”

“Probably not,” Dean replies, voice at least 20% more confident than he actually feels. Hell, he’s liable to start drooling regardless if Cas keeps giving him things to stare at.

“Good enough for me.” Cas sparks the lighter and takes a long draw, letting the smoke drift out at a lazy pace. He looks positively sinful, lips parted just far enough to let the air flow through, eyelids heavy, head tilted back like he’s never been more comfortable. He passes the joint to Dean, whose throat has gone dry for reasons entirely unrelated to the weed he’s smoking. “You fix cars, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean affirms, taking a much more conservative puff off the joint than Cas did. “Why, you got a car hidden around here that needs fixing? I know the grass in the front yard is pretty tall, but I think I would have noticed a fucking sedan in there.”

“Pfft, no,” Cas scoffs.

“Why do you need a mechanic if you don’t have a car?”

“Have you not ever noticed the decrepit van in the driveway?”

“How could I miss it? The thing is right in the middle of the damn driveway and the tires are so flat I think the rims are warped,” Dean replies, suddenly aware that he might, just possibly, be shouting. He hates parking his baby so close to that thing but like, really. He can’t imagine anyone actually wanting to be seen driving a vehicle that full of garbage.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Think you could get it running?” Cas asks.

Dean stares at Cas like he’s grown a second head or some shit. “That kinda depends on what’s wrong with it,” he answers.

“Yeah, I don’t have the answer to that question.”

“Then I don’t know what it’ll take to get it running. But I gotta say, considering how long it’s been sitting there and how fucked the wheels are, it’s probably not worth your time to bother with it. Take what you want out of that mountain of crap and I’ll put you in touch with one of the scrap guys we use at the shop.”

“Oh, it’s not mine,” Cas informs him, snuffing out the ember at the end of the joint in a marble ash tray on the coffee table.

“Then why do you care?” Dean inquires, totally confused. That might be the weed. He’s not really sure.

Cas sighs wearily, and Dean gets the impression this is a story he’s told one too many times. “The girl who lived here before you left it here. Didn’t actually tell me she was moving out, just crammed her shit into the back of the van and took off to some free love music festival in the woods or something. Never came back for it.”

“Wow, seriously?”

“Yeah. And I ran into her the other day, randomly. Apparently she met some guy at the festival and took off to live in a commune for the past little while. They’re completely off the grid, so that explains why she never called me back. Either that or she’s a fucking flake, take your pick. She’s totally willing to come pick the van up, anyway, but she’s not going to pay for a tow truck for it and considering how long it’s been sitting there without her giving a shit, I doubt she’s going to shell out to get it running. So I thought I might just pay you to do it and move things along.”

Dean makes a face. “Dude, you don’t even charge me rent. I think I can take a look at your derelict hippie van.”

“You’re alright, Winchester,” Cas tells him. “It’s also your turn to get beer.”

“Fair enough,” Dean says with a grimace, slowly hauling himself off the couch. “So how long has the van actually been out there?”

Cas shrugs. “Like eight or nine months. She didn’t drive it for a month or two before she took off.”

“Was it running when she left?” Dean calls from the kitchen. He grabs the two somewhat chilled beers from the fridge, replacing them with several more out of the case

“In theory. If the state she left her room in is any indication, she’s not one for maintenance of any kind.”

“Well, this will be interesting.” Dean hands one of the beers to Cas and reclaims his own seat on the couch. “I think I’ll leave it for the weekend, bring some new tubes for the tires from the shop on Monday and start there. No point in trying anything if I can’t do anything with it if I get it running.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Just so you know, I’m putting on Empire Strikes Back after this.”

“Am I supposed to have a problem with that?” Dean challenges.

“No. Just want to make my intentions clear.” Cas wears a playful, somewhat devious grin on his lips.

“We should probably make popcorn or something then,” Dean informs him.

“Nachos?” Cas suggests.

“Do we have everything for nachos?”

“I don’t know,” Cas whines. “You do the grocery shopping.”

“I’ll check after they blow up the death star, okay?” Dean assures him.

“Spoilers!” Cas shouts, already laughing. “You’re a way better roommate than the girl with the van,” he informs Dean. “She‘d never have made me nachos, and if she did, it would have been that disgusting vegan soy cheese crap.”

“Oh God, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dean groans.

“Yeah. Why do you think I had that thing about vegans in my craigslist ad? I’m not making that mistake again.”

It doesn’t stop after Empire. They make it all the way through Return of the Jedi, and despite the fact that Cas rolls yet another joint at some point during the evening, neither of them falls asleep on the couch. They do have the makings of nachos, which Dean throws together before the start of Empire Strikes Back like he promised, and the truly pornographic noises Cas makes while he’s eating them probably have something to do with why Dean doesn’t fall asleep during the movie, at least.

And if, when he finally goes to bed, Dean doesn’t need Pornhub as inspiration when he pulls his dick out of his boxers and jerks himself off roughly, quickly, quietly, well, Castiel never has to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr!](http://shennanigoats.tumblr.com) I'm kinda friendly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean really knows how to get Cas' motor running. 
> 
> Not a euphemism.

Okay, so, Dean’s plan to go out and get laid on Friday night failed spectacularly. He hits the pub with a couple of guys from the shop on Saturday night, and somewhere in the back of his mind he’s thinking about making a night of it, finding somewhere that guys who like guys like him go, and picking up a willing partner. But a couple of beers with coworkers turns into quite a few beers with coworkers, and going to a different bar to find a hook-up seems like a lot of work. That and, now that he thinks about it, if he can hear every little detail of Cas’ sexual escapades, it means Cas would hear his too, and there’s something purely mortifying about that idea. Dean can’t really put a finger on why because he’s never been shy or prudish, but there it is. The thought of Castiel hearing him fucking in the other room makes Dean’s skin crawl so much that he decides, resolutely, that he’s not bringing home a date any time soon. He could always suggest that he and whatever willing partner he finds go back to that person’s place, he supposes, but…never mind. Another time. He won’t bother tonight.

It’s certainly unfortunate that this particular decision means he’s home and in bed and just this side of asleep when the front door opens and Castiel stumbles in, muttering under his breath at whoever he’s brought home for the night. The front door slams and locks, and then footsteps, and then Castiel’s bedroom door closes, and Dean knows it’s only a matter of time before he hears the whole filthy ordeal.

Oh well.

There’s always next weekend.

~*~

 “Good Saturday night?” Dean asks glibly, noticing that Castiel has barely opened his eyes since he shuffled out of his room about twenty minutes ago. Dean’s already on his third cup of coffee and at least halfway through cobbling together a stack of French toast big enough to feed a nuclear family. There’s no question as to whether it’s too much food though, because whatever he puts in front of Cas gets fucking devoured. He could drench an entire loaf of bread in egg wash and throw slice after slice into the frying pan, accompany it with an entire package of bacon, and Cas would still glance sadly at his empty plate and silently implore Dean for more. He’s got no idea where the guy puts it, honestly, because he’s solidly built but certainly not even bordering on pudgy. He’s gotta run laps around the block the entire time Dean’s at work or something. Seriously. It’s as good as any other theory. Not once in the six months that Dean’s lived here have they ever discussed what Cas does with his days and at this point it seems silly to ask. Dean will just have to draw his own conclusions

“Saturday night was okay,” Cas agrees. “This morning I could have done without, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asks, setting a mug of coffee in front of Cas. Cas didn’t ask for it, but Dean knows he wants coffee, and the grateful hum that rumbles through his chest as he picks up the mug is thanks enough.

“It means I was woken up by someone I thought had already left, pawing at my ass and asking me to do him a favor.”

“Do I wanna ask what the favor was?” Dean chuckles.

“He asked me for a blow job,” Cas tells him, rolling his eyes so hard it makes Dean’s face hurt.

“That’s not a favor.”

“I _know_ ,” Cas gripes. “Ugh. Who fucking does that?”

“Someone you’re probably not gonna see again, I’m guessing?” Dean asks, certainly not at all for selfish reasons.

“Hadn’t planned on it.” Cas’ voice is flat. “Of course, I decided that before his little request.” That shouldn’t make Dean anywhere near as pleased as it does, not by a long shot. He sets a mountain of French toast down in front of Cas, knowing full well that it’s going to be difficult to get more than a few words out of him in response while there’s foo to pay attention to.

“Well then,” Dean quips. “Good riddance.” At least that confirms Castiel is into men. Not that it means Dean has a chance or anything, but hey, a guy can dream.

 

~*~

Between a portable air compressor, a jack, and his trusty tire iron, Dean makes quick work of getting new tubes in the tires on the old beast of a VW van. He decides that needs to happen before he even tries to start the thing. When Cas asks, he says it’s because you need tires to go anywhere, but really, Dean’s just delaying the inevitability of opening the door and climbing into the (probably rat infested) thing. There’s no telling what’s in those boxes. It could be cases and cases of non-dairy soy cheese substitute, for Christ’s sake. In any case, he’s losing the light by the time he finishes with that Monday night, so he’s spared the ordeal of braving the van’s contents for at least one more day.

Besides, it’s probably out of gas anyway. He should bring a gas can before he even bothers trying.

On Tuesday, he grabs a gas can from the shop and stops at a gas station on the way home, throwing ten bucks of unleaded in the thing. There’s no point filling up the tank, he figures, since he has no idea what’s wrong with the van and also he’s not spending more of his hard earned money on this hippie moron than is absolutely necessary. And really, he’s not spending anything on her, he tells himself. It’s all so he has more room to park his baby. Completely selfish. He’s definitely not doing it for Cas.

Nope.

Totally selfish.

Unfortunately, the design of these vans means that he _does_ have to open the door to the cabin in order to pull the release on the gas tank door. Dean holds his breath as he swings the driver’s side door open as far as it’ll go, though he wouldn’t admit it if anyone asked. He needn’t have worried though, because no sea of rodents tumbles out to swarm around his feet, and aside from a musty smell he’d expect out of any vehicle left out and untouched for this long, there’s nothing immediately unpleasant about the air that greets his nose when he leans in to find the gas tank lever. Pleasantly surprised, Dean pops the tank and pours the small amount of gas in, then strides back into the house.

“Do you have keys for the van?” he asks Cas, currently parked on the couch reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

“Huh? Oh um, I think she left them in the glove box.”

“Why would she leave them in the glove box?” Dean asks, confused.

“I stopped asking questions about that girl’s motivations a long time ago,” Cas informs him. “You’re ready to give it a shot?”

“Yeah,” Dean confirms. “Tires are good, there’s gas in it. If it was running before she took off on you, that’s a good place to start. I wouldn’t be surprised if it starts right away.”

“Well let’s give it a shot,” Cas says, setting his book down on the coffee table beside a tall marbled glass bong Dean has never seen before.

“Is that new?” he asks.

“What, the bong?” Cas asks. “Yeah. Birthday present to myself.”

“I didn’t know it was your birthday,” Dean says as they walk out the front door. Not like he would have done anything special though, right? Cas is just his roommate. It’s not like he missed his boyfriend’s birthday or anything. Cas is just some guy he lives with. Could have baked a cake or something though.

Alternately, there’s always birthday sex. He could offer that up.

Dean beelines for the van before he does or says something truly stupid.

“I didn’t exactly mention it,” Cas points out, coming to stand beside the open driver’s side door while Dean climbs in and leans over to the passenger side to rummage in the glove box. “Anyway, my birthday isn’t actually until next week. I just called it a birthday present to justify the expense. It’s kinda extravagant.”

“Well then I don’t feel so bad for not knowing it was your birthday, I guess. Remind me to make you pancakes or something next weekend.”

“I like pancakes,” Cas informs him. Like Dean didn’t already know.

“Lemme see here…road maps…a fuckin’ eight-track cassette, are you kidding me, this thing doesn’t even have an eight-track player! Insurance papers, oh what a surprise, expired. Rolling papers…more road maps, but these ones are for…Alberta? Canada? Ah, here we go. Keys.”

It doesn’t turn over on the first try, but it tries. It really tries. Dean gives it a minute then turns the key again, and is pleasantly surprised when the old engine rumbles to life, shuddering a little but otherwise operating exactly the way an internal combustion engine ought to.

“You’re lucky it’s not a diesel,” Dean says, raising his voice to be heard over the engine. “You let one of those run out of gas and you’re fucked.”

Dean wants to make some really lewd comment about Cas and getting fucked, but for once his inability to think of something clever works in his favor, because you can’t make a joke you don’t have.

“So it runs?” Cas asks excitedly.

“It’s running, ain’t it?”

Cas doesn’t reply though, because he’s already on the phone calling whatever the fuck her name is.

~*~

Whether he had ulterior motives or not, Dean feels a swell of pride when he watches that goddamned van roll out of the driveway and onto the street. The blonde dreadlocks of the suburban hippie girl driving the thing sway like a medusa-head full of snakes as she looks frantically this way and that, searching for a gap in traffic, and it takes longer than Dean would like for her to finally leave, but eventually the thing is gone, disappearing off into traffic and hopefully, out of their yard forever.

“Thank fuck,” Cas rumbles, echoing Dean’s unspoken sentiment.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean agrees. “That thing was a fucking eyesore.”

“You can pull your car forward now,” Cas says noncommittally, heading for the house.

“Actually, I was gonna make a supply run,” Dean informs him. “We’re out of beer.” Cas turns on his heel and heads back towards the driveway, reaching for the passenger side door on Dean’s impala and dropping himself into the seat.

“I’ll come with,” Cas tells him, like that wasn’t obvious.

Dean shrugs and gets in the car.

It’s…not bad hanging out with Cas like this. The cross paths as much as roommates can be expected to but they rarely socialize intentionally, and this is the first time Dean can think of that they’ve spent time together outside the house. Dean does all the grocery shopping himself, and whatever it is that Cas does while Dean’s at work, Dean’s never run into him during the day.  They each pick out a six-pack of beer and are about to make a beeline for the registers when Cas suddenly grabs onto Dean’s arm and practically buries his face in Dean’s chest.

“What the fuck dude?” Dean exclaims.

“Shhh!” Cas chides, not offering any explanation.

“ _What the fuck dude_?” Dean tries again in a harsh whisper. “What’s going on?”

“You see the guy in the red hoodie over there?” Cas points as surreptitiously as he can manage, drawing Dean’s attention to a tall, solidly built man in a hoodie and jeans.

“Yeah?” Dean tells him, eager to resolve this situation before the unexpected close proximity gives Cas any idea what Dean really thinks of him.

“That’s the guy who left without his pants.”

“What?”

“He left without his pants,” Cas repeats.

“No, I heard you,” Dean says. “I just have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Cas sighs, apparently rather put out at having to explain the details of his embarrassment. “A couple months ago I picked that guy up at a bar. He came home with me, we got naked, and it was like, the worst sex of my life. Terrible. So bad. He thought it was awesome though, started asking for my number, wanted to make plans to see each other again. I told him I wasn’t feeling it and left to go to the bathroom, and I was probably in there way longer than necessary but I just…whatever. Anyway. When I came back, he was gone, but I didn’t realize until the next morning that his pants were still there. I’m afraid if he sees me he’s going to remember and I’m going to have to _talk_ to him.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, unsure exactly which part of that story to respond to first. “Dude.”

“I know,” Cas moans, exasperated.

“It was the middle of winter! How did he leave without pants?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Cas informs him. “Is he gone?”

“Just walking out the door now,” Dean assures him.”

“Oh, thank God,” Cas breathes, peeling himself away from Dean’s body and heading for the register. Dean carefully adjusts himself in his pants before following. This shit is just not fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Tumblr!](http://shennanigoats.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally gets around to going hunting for a date.
> 
> It doesn't go the way he expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are probably going to have questions.
> 
> The answer is probably yes.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter specific warning at the end (because I hate spoilers. Jump down there to see if it's your squick, if you're concerned

The following weekend, having failed miserably in his previous endeavor to seek out someone to get naked with, Dean is resolved. He will go out on Saturday, and he will get laid, and you know what, he’ll do it in his own damn bed because seriously. If he’s gotta lie there listening to Cas get his rocks off every weekend without fail, it’s only fair that Dean gets some too. Anything’s gotta be more exciting than his own hand.

The plan goes reasonably well at first. According to the info Dean’s been able to glean, if you’re a dude who wants to pick up other dudes, you go to Perdition. It’s a little gaudy for Dean’s taste, too many neon lights and too much top 40 music. He’d much rather be in a pub with cold beer and songs he knows and friends. Hell, he’d much rather be at home. But the aforementioned plan requires Dean to be out in public somewhere that people who might be interested in a roll in the hay are going to be. So he orders a beer and meanders around the edge of the dance floor, waiting for someone to catch his eye.

It might not be his kind of bar, but not staying here is kind of the point. There are at least a few people that he might be interested in leaving with, so Dean bides his time. He’ll circle a while, gauge interest, enjoy his drink, and go from there. There’s no rush. He’s got all night.

~*~

Time, apparently, is not the deciding factor. Dean has never struck out so many times in one night. He’s not sure _anyone_ has. He can’t even believe it’s happening to him. Dean must be emitting some kind of pheromone that makes him sexually revolting to every guy in a 500-yard radius. That’s the only possible explanation. Either that or there’s something very wrong with his face tonight, but he was just in the bathroom about ten minutes ago and he looked perfectly fine, so it’s gotta be the other thing. Regardless of the reason, by the time last call rolls around, Dean is solo, his prospects are shot, and he’s resigned to going home alone.

That is, of course, until he walks outside to hail a cab and feels a hand fall on his shoulder. Dean turns around swiftly, nearly losing his balance on drunken feet, and finds himself staring into the (unfairly gorgeous) face of his roommate. Cas’ hand hovers in the air from where it previously rested on Dean’s shoulder, and Cas has this grin on his face that is equal parts amused and embarrassed.

“Hey Dean,” Cas rumbles, his voice carrying over the din of music spilling out of the club. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Yeah, I was supposed to meet some friends, but they bailed,” Dean lies. “So I figured, what the hell, stay for a few drinks.”

“Did you have a good time?” Cas asks coyly. Dean’s brain hangs on the tone for a moment, not allowing him to answer. Then it hits him. It’s Saturday. Castiel is due home with his presumed flavour of the week in about oh, ten minutes? And he’s at the exact same bar Dean’s at. Of _course_ he knows why Dean was here.

Fuck.

 “Not really,” Dean replies, significantly more honest than his last response. He had an awful time. The drinks were overpriced and he completely bombed at picking up a partner and the music was _terrible_ and he just wants to go home.

“Too bad,” Cas sympathizes. “You heading home then?” Dean nods. “You wanna split a cab?”

“Sure,” Dean replies casually. What he actually means is _fuck yes, please, get me out of this place_. It also occurs to him, quite belatedly, that it’s just him and Cas in this conversation. There’s no flavor of the week waiting for Cas to take him home.

Well, at least Dean won’t be the only one who doesn’t get laid tonight.

Dean slides into the first cab that pulls up to the curb, shuffling over to the driver’s side while Cas climbs in beside him. At the last second, before he can reach out and close the door, a guy Dean’s never seen before jogs up to the car and slides in beside Cas.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly, making no efforts to stay out of Cas’ personal space. “Sorry, I got caught up.”

“It’s okay,” Cas assures him somewhat sullenly. “Um, this is my roommate, Dean.”

Dean gives the guy a cursory wave, then gives the driver their address. They pull away from the curb and start to navigate out of the downtown core and towards Cas’ little house uptown, and it becomes increasingly apparent as time ticks by that Cas has no intention of following through on the introduction.

The guy notices it too, apparently, because he leans forward enough to make eye contact with Dean. “I’m Cole,” he offers. His arm extends like he expects Dean to reach out and shake it. Dean does not.

“Awkward,” Cole mutters under his breath. Castiel eyes him sideways, and Dean eyes them both sideways. It wasn’t awkward before, but it sure as fuck is now. Dean’s sitting here trying _not_ to be bitter about the fact that tonight, when he’s forced to listen to the guy he’s totally not harbouring a crush on fucking around with someone else, he’s going to know exactly what that someone else looks like. It’ll probably be even harder not to picture what’s happening on the other side of the wall this time. Dean’s also reasonably certain he’ll be able to tell which voice is which, a detail he’s not particularly excited about. And neither Cas nor Cole appears to be moving at all, just sitting still as statues aside from the jostling of the car, which means Dean is probably doing a really piss-poor job of disguising how displeased he is right now.

There are no more words exchanged on the way home, and Dean has never been more thankful for a cab driver that runs questionable yellow lights and generally ignores all social conventions of _polite_ driving. He’s got them home in record time, and just to speed things up even further, Dean grabs what he thinks is an appropriate amount of money out of his wallet and hands it over without questioning either of the other occupants.

He beelines for the front door, not even looking back at Cas and his companion. Dean means to lock himself in his room and just call it a night, but at the last second he decides, nope, fuck it, he needs another beer. He heads for the kitchen and stays there until he hears the front door latch and two sets of footfalls disappearing down the hallway. Cas’ bedroom door closes behind them, and only then does Dean venture back out to the living room.

He’s not listening to this tonight. There’s no fucking way. It’s insult to injury for him to lie there in bed and try to block out the noise of those two going at it. It should be Dean in there, tearing Cas’ clothes off and exploring his body with hands and mouth and…

Shit.

Well so much for denying the crush.

Yeah. No. He’s definitely not going to bed any time soon.

Instead, Dean parks his ass on the couch and flips on the TV, flicking through channels until he finds a Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives marathon. If he can’t get laid and he can’t go to bed, at least Guy Fieri can take him on a trip to flavortown.

~*~

Three episodes, three beers, and one absurdly overloaded sandwich later, Dean thinks it’s finally safe to go to bed. The sandwich has done a pretty good job of sopping up the booze in his stomach, rendering him sober enough to sleep rather than pass out, and unless Cas and Cole have uncanny stamina, they’ve got to be done fucking by now. Dean turns off the TV and sits in silence for a minute, letting his ears adjust to the absence of sound, and he doesn’t hear anything incriminating drifting down the hallway, so he abandons his last beer can on the coffee table and shuffles off to brush his teeth.

Dean’s so tired that he doesn’t even bother turning on the light when he gets back to his bedroom. He drags his feet over to the side of the bed and drops his phone on the nightstand, then unbuttons his pants and just leaves them on the floor where they fall. His shirt joins them, an amorphous lump of fabric that Dean can barely discern from the carpet in the dark. It occurs to Dean that he probably should have pulled his wallet out of the jeans before going to sleep since he’s likely going to forget in the morning, but he’s already throwing back the covers and climbing into bed. Dean curls up on his side, hugs his pillow, and starts to drift off to sleep.

And that’s when he feels it.

There is…something, Dean isn’t sure what, but definitely something, poking right into the small of his back. It’s not sharp, and it doesn’t feel cold or metallic, so Dean’s reasonably certain it isn’t some kind of a weapon, but there’s something there.

Something hard, and warm, and…

Is that a dick?

Oh God. It’s definitely a dick.

Even in his drunken state, Dean knows full well that doesn’t make any sense. He is alone in his bedroom. He did not bring anyone home. There should only be one dick in this bed, and it’s the one between his own two legs that is decidedly _not_ excited about this turn of events.

“What the _fuck_?” Dean bellows, leaping out of bed. He throws on the light as fast as he can manage, and stares wild-eyed back at the bed. Cole’s sitting there, tucked under Dean’s blankets with the smuggest fucking look on his face.

“Your roommate fell asleep,” he explains, like that actually explains anything.

“And that puts you in my bed how?” Dean barks, way too tired to have even a little bit of patience for this bullshit.

“I didn’t want to sleep on the couch?” Cole ventures.

“Try again.”

“I didn’t want to sleep alone,” Cole self-corrects. “And you’re pretty hot. So I thought maybe, since you were all by yourself, we could make the best of a bad situation.”

“And you thought you could just climb into my damn bed and I’d, what, thank you for the opportunity?” Dean can barely believe the line he’s being fed. This is a whole new level of audacity.

“I thought I at least had a chance.”

“Nope,” Dean assures him. “Not even a little.”

“Oh, come on!” Cole pleads, throwing back the covers to reveal his naked cock, clutched loosely in one hand. “Just touch it. Your roommate doesn’t have to know.” Dean is momentarily rendered speechless. How is this actually something he is hearing right now?!

“You seriously think that’s my problem with this?” Dean shouts when he remembers how to move his mouth. “You think I don’t want to fuck you because my roommate _claimed_ you? You don’t think it might be because, I don’t know, you climbed naked into my bed totally uninvited and then jabbed me in the back with your fucking cock? You are a piece of work buddy. You know what? Get the fuck out. Get out of my room, get out of this house, get the fuck out.” Cole stares at him for a moment, totally flabbergasted, as if he can’t possibly understand what Dean’s so mad about.

“Can I at least sleep on the couch?” he ventures, still making no effort to vacate the bed. Dean doesn’t even answer him. The murder-stare on his face says everything he needs to. Cole withers under the weight of it, but he slinks out of the bed still too slow for Dean’s liking. It takes him nearly two full minutes to find all his clothes and put them all on, and he still pleads with Dean not to kick him out the whole time.

“Come on, Dean, it’s late. The buses aren’t running any more. It’s like four in the morning. How am I supposed to get home?”

“Don’t care,” Dean informs him bluntly. “Take a fucking cab. Walk. Hitchhike. Not my fucking problem. Out,” he commands firmly, stabbing a finger towards the front door. The second Cole clears the doorway he slams the door shut and throws the deadbolt closed, then spins on his heel, still wearing nothing but his boxers, intent on pounding on Cas’ door until he wakes up so Dean can give him a piece of his mind.

And Cas is right there in the hallway, eyes half open, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, staring at Dean like he just caught him murdering puppies or something.

“What the _fuck_ was all that yelling about,” he growls, voice still thick with sleep.

“That,” Dean tells him pointedly, “was your buddy Cole, deciding that since you fell asleep on him, he should find his way into _my_ bed, and he should be naked while he does it. So don’t you fucking yell at me.”

“What?” Cas says, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Yeah. God. It’s not bad enough I gotta hear you through the walls every fucking Saturday night, now I gotta have your rejects dicking me in the spine when I go to bed? This no rent thing is really starting to cost me.” Dean throws his hands up in exasperation, fully prepared to stomp away from this conversation and hide in his room. It seems like Cas is going to let him, too, until he’s got one foot in his bedroom door, hand already reaching for the knob.

“You…” Cas starts, hesitating to continue. “You can _hear_ me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone who is not invited to do so gets naked and climbs into someone else's bed. A little non-con touching, nobody is traumatized just angry, and the offending person goes away and is never seen again for the rest of the story because screw that guy, that's why.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well that escalated quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems fitting to post this now since it's Saturday night and all...

“Yeah, dude,” Dean snorts, about as done as he has ever been in his entire life.

“Why did you never say anything?” Cas practically whines.

Dean shrugs, suddenly aware that he’s still nearly naked. “Figured you knew and you just didn’t give a shit.”

“No,” Cas assures him. “I had no idea. Is it bad? Like, really loud?” Cas sounds as if he desperately does not want to know the answer to that question.

Dean opens his mouth to answer, then thinks better of it. Instead, he seizes Cas by the shoulders and guides him into Dean’s room, then dashes down the hall to Cas’ room and hops on the bed. Before he really knows what he’s planning on, Dean finds himself bouncing on the mattress on all fours, giving it his best When Harry Met Sally fake moan, slamming the headboard into the wall with a steady rhythm. No words can convey to Cas what it actually sounds like. He’s got to let him hear it.

Dean goes on long enough that he figures Cas has a pretty good idea of how loud it is. Maybe a bit longer than necessary, if he’s honest, just to prove a point. He’s about to climb off the bed and go back to debrief when he hears a soft laugh behind him.

Cas has _got_ to stop sneaking up on him like this. He’s standing in the doorway with one hand on his hip, eyes resting heavily on Dean. “I don’t know whether to be absolutely mortified that you can hear me that loudly, or to tell you to keep the show going so I can listen to you make those noises again,” he informs Dean in a rumbling tone that gives Dean some very bad ideas. “Either way, you’ve made an impression.”

“Seemed more effective than just telling you,” Dean answers smugly. He really shouldn’t be smug though, not with the way he can feel his chest flushing. Sure, he made his point in vibrant detail, but he also can’t stop thinking about Cas _making_ him make those noises again, and it’s gonna get real awkward real quick if he’s still standing nearly naked in front of Cas when that starts to have an effect on his dick.

“Oh yeah,” Cas assures him, eyes never leaving Dean’s body as he climbs off the bed and starts to move towards the door. “Very effective.” The entire time Dean approaches the door and, subsequently, Cas, he’s painfully aware of how close he’s going to have to get in order to even leave this room, and it’s just thin black cotton between him and an inappropriate boner. That painful awareness isn’t helping either, because he can’t stop looking at Cas' arms, with their thick, tanned forearms, or his thighs, powerfully toned in a way that suggests to Dean that Cas spends a lot of time running. And an awareness of Cas’ thighs brings his eyes to glance, just glance at Cas’ crotch, and God, does he like what he sees. Cas notices him looking, apparently, because when Dean looks up at Cas’ face, there’s an almost predatory gleam in his eye and a smile on his lips.

“I don’t wanna cross any lines here,” Cas murmurs darkly, “because you’ve already had a hell of a night, but I definitely want to touch you. If you want to let me, that is,” he adds quickly, still managing to sound sultry. They’re not quite close enough for Dean to feel the heat of Cas’ breath on his skin but he imagines he does anyway, and it sends a shudder up his spine that he can’t suppress.

“Best offer I’ve had all night,” Dean replies with a low hum.

“The bar’s set pretty low. That’s not saying much,” Cas points out, laughing softly. He moves towards Dean, not quickly or aggressively, just enough motion to show his intent and give Dean one last chance to back out if he’s reconsidering.

He’s not reconsidering.

Dean instead finishes closing the distance, taking a small step towards his roommate slash landlord )slash _oh my god is this actually happening to him???)_  and letting his hand land on Cas’ hip. Dean’s thumb presses just above the sharp jut of Cas’ hip bone. After all the months of stolen glances and supressed desire, it feels so good to finally get his hands on Cas, to be invited into his space and permitted to touch, Dean doesn’t even know where to start.

Cas doesn’t have the same indecision, it seems. Right away, his arms circle around Dean’s body and he clutches Dean’s ass, firmly pulling him forward until there’s no space at all left between them. He can feel the swell of Cas’ hardening cock against his hip and his own cock is certainly noticeable too, but he’s much more focused on the feeling of Cas’ hands, cupping and squeezing his ass. Their eyes meet for a second, an unspoken question passing between them, but Dean doesn’t let it linger for long before taking the lead. Emboldened by Cas’ appreciation of his assets, Dean leans in and presses his lips to Cas’, tasting toothpaste on his breath. His lips are softer than they look, plump and lush, and Cas kisses him back slowly and languidly like it’s not four in the morning, like it isn’t some absurd comedy of errors that brought them to this moment, like they have all the time in the world. Dean supposes they kind of do, in that there’s no demand on their time, but from the second their mouths meet there’s an urgency in his own actions, a desire building second by second, and he wants nothing more than to move this along. He’s waited a damn long time to get this opportunity—in truth, he thought it would never come—and something inside Dean shouts at him to escalate the situation before Cas decides it’s off the table, never to be offered again.

Dean slides his hand down Cas’ hip to palm at his cock, trailing a fingertip across the wet spot forming on the front of his boxers. Cas hums against Dean’s lips, rocking his hips forward just a little to chase the friction, but when Dean tries to slide his hand inside Cas’ boxers, Cas breaks the kiss to chide him in that luscious gravely tone.

“What’s your hurry?” Cas taunts. “You got somewhere to be after this?”

“Nowhere at all,” Dean tells him, shaking his head.

“Then slow down. Let me take my time with you. I got a whole laundry list of things I’d like to do now that I’ve got my hands on you, and I don’t plan to rush this.” He kisses Dean once more, still languid and indulgent, no urgency whatsoever. When he breaks away again, this time pressing hot kisses to Dean’s throat, Dean can’t help but press for details.

“So you’re telling me you’ve thought about this before?” he asks, trying and completely failing to remain casual about it. The soft moan that Cas coaxes from his lips as he finds a sensitive spot and sinks his teeth into it certainly doesn’t help with the whole casual thing. It’s fairly obvious that Dean is anything but casual about this.

“You’re telling me you haven’t?” Cas counters.

“I never said that.”

“Of course I’ve thought about it,” Cas assures him. “You’re hot as hell, don’t tell me no one’s ever told you that before. I’m pre-emptively calling bullshit on that.” He’s mouthing at Dean’s collarbone now, dragging his teeth across the skin just enough to send shivers up Dean’s spine.

“But…ohh…” Dean begins, failing to stifle a moan. “But it took a douchebag with personal space issues to inspire you to do anything about it?”

Cas meets his eyes for a second, opening his mouth to answer, but instead presses his lips to the spot where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder and begins sucking a mark into the skin that Dean knows will stand out brightly even against his tanned neck. “No,” Cas scoffs, dragging the point of his tongue over the mark he’s just left behind. “It took me running into you at a gay bar to realize I had an actual shot. Any more pressing questions? Because if we’re done talking, there’s a few other things I’d like to do with my mouth.”

Dean doesn’t even try to keep the sly grin from creeping onto his face at that. Cas is so coy, so pushy, it makes Dean want to hurry up and get to the good stuff even more, but he’s entirely certain that Cas is gonna make him wait for it. “Just one more question,” Dean assures him, laughing softly as Cas rolls his eyes.

“Very well,” Cas concedes, his voice tinged with exaggerated impatience.

“When you planned out this laundry list of things you wanted to do to me, who did you imagine was fucking who?”

Cas throws his head back and laughs, a gorgeous, throaty sound that reverberates throughout the room. “That’s a very good question,” Cas informs him. “Sometimes, I like to imagine you’ve got me on my hands and knees, and it’s you who’s doing the fucking. Sometimes, I think about pinning your arms to the bed and fucking you into the mattress.”

“And tonight?” Dean breathes, unable or unwilling to hide how much it turns him on to think about Cas pinning him down like that.

“Tonight I’m thinking about lying back on the bed and watching you bounce on my cock.” Cas hums softly, closing his eyes like he’s trying to picture it in vivid detail. “Yes, I think so. That’s definitely what I want.” Dean opens his mouth to reply very enthusiastically in the affirmative, but he doesn’t get a chance. Cas kisses him deeply, his tongue probing Dean’s mouth, and all his words and moans alike are swallowed up. It’s easy to lose himself in a kiss like this, just give himself over to the intoxication of Cas finally pressed against him, touching him, feeling him.

Cas’ patience lasts longer than Dean’s. He drowns in the sensations and revels in all the little touches, kisses, sounds, but eventually, Dean finds himself wanting more. He wants this party to get naked, and preferably horizontal. He tries to palm at Cas’ crotch again, hoping he can inspire some faster action. He’s barely started to touch when Cas grabs his wrist, strong fingers wrapping around and holding him tight.

“Is that what you want, Dean? Do you want to ride me?” His voice is so sinfully taunting that Dean can barely stand it.

“Fuck,” Dean groans. “Whatever you want, Cas. You want me to ride you, I’m sure as fuck not going to say no.”

Cas huffs softly. “I didn’t ask if you were going to say no, Dean. That just means you’re not going to protest. I asked if you wanted it. I’m interested in what you want. Do you want to ride my dick? Or would you rather I ride yours?”

“You’re pretty fuckin bossy,” Dean grumbles.

“I’ve been told,” Cas muses. “That isn’t an answer.”

“I want…” Dean begins, hesitating for a moment while he finds his words. “I want you. I want you naked, and I want to make you come, and I want to know what you sound like without a goddamned wall in the way. I could go either way, but since riding your dick has been offered, I’m thinking that sounds pretty damn good right now.”

“Good enough for me,” Cas laughs, snapping the waistband on Dean’s boxers. “You can probably take these off now.”

“Oh, I have permission now, do I? Cause I seem to recall trying to get my hand in your shorts a few times already this evening without much success.” Even as Dean speaks, he’s pushing his shorts down over his hips and stepping out of them, letting his cock spring free.

“Morning,” Cas corrects. “Hell, the sun will be up soon. It’s definitely morning.”

“Whatever,” Dean gripes, reaching for Cas’ shorts again. Cas swats his hand away.

“I said you could take yours off. I didn’t say anything about mine.” With hands on Dean’s shoulders, Cas backs him up against the wall beside the door and sinks to his knees, kissing his way across Dean’s belly and hips before sticking his tongue out and running the point up the whole length of Dean’s cock, root to tip. Dean groans aloud, head falling back to thud heavily against the wall. Cas’ mouth is impossibly hot, wet and slick and sinful, and if Dean hadn’t been promised the opportunity to ride Cas’ cock later, he’d be perfectly happy to lean against this wall and let Cas blow his goddamned mind. He has, however, been thinking about riding Cas’ cock since the suggestion was first posed, and he’d be pretty disappointed if he didn’t get to. And actually, if he wasn’t so distracted by the fucking filthy mouth on his cock right now, doing all the right things and driving him absolutely mad, he’d probably be a little bit more disgruntled about the fact that he hasn’t even _seen_ Cas’ dick yet.

Cas pulls his gorgeous mouth off Dean’s dick and he thinks that now, perhaps, he’s going to get his wish, but Cas stays on his knees, jacking Dean’s cock in loose, slow strokes while he drags the flat of his tongue over Dean’s balls. It’s just enough pressure and warmth to tease, but between that and the continued torment of Cas’ hand on his cock, Dean’s in fucking heaven.

“You sound way better like this,” Cas informs him. His lips press to Dean’s inner thigh, sucking another purple bruise on the skin there, and Dean doesn’t even think about protesting. He does have a question, though.

“Better than what?” he asks breathlessly.

“Better than the sounds you were making when I _wasn’t_ touching you,” Cas elaborates. “I like it much better when I’m the one making you moan.”

“Can’t say I’m complaining,” Dean agrees. “When do I get to make you moan?”

“I’m sure I’ll be doing plenty of that when I’ve got my dick in your ass,” Cas assures him. Before Dean can press the issue any further, he takes Dean’s cock back into his mouth, swallowing him down so completely that Dean can feel himself nudging the back of Cas’ throat. Any commentary Dean might have thought to make on the subject is summarily forgotten. Hell, he almost forgets his own name.

In truth, Cas is good enough at this that Dean completely forgets about any desire he might have to speed things along. He tangles his fingers in Cas’ soft brown hair and relishes all the attention he’s receiving, and it doesn’t occur to him to push for more until he feels one of Cas’ fingers nudging between his legs, making a slow and steady progress towards the tight pucker of his ass.

“God, finally,” Dean groans, earning a soft laugh.

“What, you’re in a hurry to get this over with?” Cas teases, pressing the point of his finger into Dean’s hole.

“I’m in a damn hurry to get this _started,”_ Dean grumbles. “It’s gonna be daylight before we get anywhere at this rate.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Cas promises him, pushing and twisting his finger as if to prove a point. And it’s good, _God_ is it good. So much better than fingering his own ass while he masturbates to porn and definitely more enjoyable than fucking himself on a dildo. There’s something infinitely more pleasurable about having things done to you than doing them yourself, Dean has often thought. Hell, even having someone else fuck you with a toy is better than doing it on your own.

“Come on,” Cas says finally, giving Dean’s cock one last teasing lick. “We need lube. On the bed.” Dean’s not usually one for following orders, but hey, first time for everything. He’s also not usually one for fucking his roommate, and he doesn’t seem to have any problem with going down that particular road. He hustles over to the bed as quick as he can without appearing too eager, and he’s right back in the position he was in when Cas announced his position in the doorway, hands and knees with his ass in the air. “Perfect,” Cas hums, digging into his nightstand for a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. “Absolutely perfect.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dean contests with a grimace. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but perfect is not usually one of them.”

“You look pretty damn perfect from where I’m standing,” Cas argues. “Eye of the beholder and all.” He leaves it at that, slicking up his fingers and perching on the bed behind Dean, and at least this time he shows a little more alacrity. The first few touches are tentative and testing, but as soon as he’s sure Dean’s adjusted to the first finger he slides a second in, slow and slick and just this side of painful. Dean can’t help but moan out loud at the feel of Cas stretching him open. His other hand is planted on Dean’s hip, keeping him grounded, and he may not be talking much but the slight hitches in his breath are all too apparent, making it abundantly clear to Dean how much Cas is enjoying this. Dean still thinks he’d be enjoying it more if they got to the main event and got Cas’ dick involved, but he’s made it pretty clear he won’t be rushed, so Dean’s only choice is to be patient until Cas decides he’s ready.

That eventuality comes without much warning. One moment, Cas has two fingers deep in Dean’s ass, twisting and scissoring while Dean moans and his cock leaks precome steadily, and the next, Cas is flopping down on the bed beside him, shimmying out of his boxer shorts. Dean finally gets a chance to take a good look at Cas’ cock, and he’s not disappointed. It’s thicker than Dean’s own, the head slick and glistening as if to prove how excited Cas is just from touching Dean, and Dean is so, so grateful Cas is dead set on Dean riding him. It’s going to feel _amazing._

Cas tears open the package of a condom and rolls it onto his dick with deft fingers, then raises an eyebrow at Dean like it says everything he could possibly want to say. “What are you waiting for?” he inquires.

Nothing, apparently. As soon as the words are out of Cas’ mouth, Dean climbs into his lap, rising up on his knees to position Cas’ fat cock against his hole. He shifts his hips carefully until he feels the blunt head breach the tight pucker of muscle, then sinks down slowly, carefully, feeling every inch of Cas fill him up. It feels like it takes an eternity for him to take the whole thing in, but finally he bottoms out, sitting gingerly on Cas’ thighs, and the breath escapes his lungs in one long exhale.

“You good?” Cas asks, just a little concern in his voice.

“I’m good,” Dean assures him. “Just getting used to it. Bigger than I’m used to.” Bigger than the dildos Dean’s been using, anyway. That much is true.

“Flatterer,” Cas teases. “Let me know when you’re ready.” Dean nods agreement, breathing slowly and letting his body get accustomed to such a big intrusion. His hands trail absently over the body splayed out in front of him, teasing at Cas’ nipples, tracing the lines of his muscles. Cas sighs softly, staying perfectly still as he waits, and the look on his face says there’s no impatience at all. He lets Dean touch to his heart’s content, his eyes slipping closed for a moment when Dean pinches a nipple.

Dean shifts his hips experimentally, deciding at last that he can’t wait any longer. “Okay,” he tells Cas as he starts to rise up. The first few strokes are slow and careful, just Dean lowering himself back onto Cas’ cock, but soon Cas starts to roll his hips up to meet Dean’s movements. And again, it’s so much better this way. Dean’s not just fucking himself on Cas’ cock, he’s being fucked, and he never wants it to stop.

Dean doesn’t do it intentionally, and he’s pretty sure Cas doesn’t either, but the pace gets gradually faster, the thrusts fiercer. Soon they’re slamming the headboard into the wall so hard that Dean is extra glad he’s in this room instead of his own listening to it. Cas smooths his rough palms up Dean’s thighs to take hold of his hips, gripping tight so he can steady Dean, pulling him back down as he plants his feet and drives his own hips up. Eventually Dean stops moving at all, just letting Cas rise up to fuck him. He bounces with the force of it, his body jostling with Cas’ frantic motions, and it’s all Dean can do to keep himself upright. His hands move over his own chest, playing at nipples and teasing over sensitive spots, before coming to rest atop Cas’ hands. Together, they hold Dean steady, keeping him aloft as Cas thrusts into him over and over and over.

“Are you close?” Cas asks, his voice even rougher than usual, thick with desire. Dean nods. It’s all he can manage. Sweat drips off his brow, his breath comes in ragged gasps, and his cock throbs with a need for release. “Touch yourself,” Cas commands in that delicious gravel tone.

Dean does.

He’s got the fingers of one hand wrapped around his cock almost immediately, jerking himself in short, quick strokes. A guttural moan slips from his barely-parted lips. The touch of his hand is enough to push him right up to the edge, and soon he’s hanging on for dear life, hovering at the precipice.

“God, yes,” Cas moans, breathy. His eyes don’t leave Dean for a second, and it’s clear that he likes what he sees. For all Dean’s sure he looks a mess, flushed and sweaty and desperate, Cas looks at him like he’s something delicious that he wants to devour. Before he can think too long on that, Dean’s orgasm washes over him, sending ribbons of come splattering all over his hand and Cas’ chest. After that his limbs go weak and holding himself up is more than he can manage, so he collapses forward and plants his hands on either side of Cas’ head. Cas’ thrusts are shallower this way, but still enough to nearly overwhelm Dean in the wake of his orgasm. As soon as he’s within reach, Cas leans up to claim his mouth, kissing Dean hard, taking everything he wants. Dean kisses him back with as much fervor as he can manage, sagging boneless against Cas’ chest.

Dean may be fucked out and spent, but Cas isn’t. He’s holding onto Dean’s ass, hands firmly planted, and he’s slowed a little but he’s definitely not stopping. He grunts against Dean’s mouth as they kiss and he fucks Dean for all he’s worth, and before too long he’s coming too. He goes tense beneath Dean and his fingers dig into the meat of Dean’s ass. Cas lets his head fall back to the pillow with a look of pure bliss on his face that Dean thinks makes him look even more gorgeous, if that’s even a thing that’s possible.

Dean struggles to find appropriate words as he collapses to the bed beside Cas, but no words come. It’s not like this is the nameless one night stand he expected to be spending his Saturday with. This is Cas, his roommate slash landlord slash friend slash whatever, and he has to see him every day for at least the foreseeable future. There’s no script for this. It’s possible that the right words to say in a scenario such as this don’t even exist in the English language, and it’s the only damn one Dean speaks so he’s at a loss. Instead, he flops on the bed with a heavy, pleased sigh, and when Cas replies with soft laughter, Dean thinks maybe no words at all are required.

He’s a little thrown off when Cas climbs out of bed almost immediately, but he’s just tying off the condom. “You’d better still be here when I get back from the bathroom,” Cas warns. His feet slap against the hardwood floor as he disappears down the hallway.

Like Dean was considering leaving. There’s still this thought in the back of his mind that this is a one-shot deal, that he’ll be just like any other Saturday conquest that Cas brings home. He can’t control how this affects what life is going to be like moving forward, but he can sure make the best of whatever he’s got coming to him. If that means lying here and catching his breath, and maybe getting another glimpse of Cas all naked and sweaty and…yeah, he’s not going anywhere. Cas grins when he walks back into the room and sees Dean still lying there. Hell, he hasn’t even moved an inch since Cas left, still sprawled out naked where he landed. Cas climbs back into bed, leaning over to press his lips to Dean’s again.

“You’re going to stay here tonight, right?” Cas asks, hopeful.

“Of course,” Dean assures him. It’s nearly five in the goddamned morning. He’s perfectly happy to fall asleep where he is.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Generally speaking, you're not supposed to bang your landlord, but it is on occasion incredibly fulfilling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of posting this, I am sitting just slightly to the left of my beautiful beta KreweOfImp. As such, I will be most distracted for the next little while, having most anxiously awaited her visit, so I may not reply to comments with any kind of haste. Please accept my humblest of apologies!

Dean wakes up far, far later than he usually does, even for a weekend, but considering how late he was awake, that’s not really surprising. Still, he’s awake before Cas. That’s no surprise either. Cas is never a morning person, and the number of times he’s been up before Dean since he moved in here can be counted on one hand with fingers left over. He’ll probably snore for another couple of hours at least, if Dean is estimating correctly, so it gives him a decent amount of time alone with his thoughts.

The events of the entire night came as a complete surprise. All of them. Not a single thing went the way Dean expected (well, except maybe for the getting laid part of things), but even so, it’s hard to deny how good he feels right now. Okay, sure, he’s tired. Really fucking tired. Staying up until the ass-crack of dawn will do that, whether booze is involved or not, but at least he can be confident in the fact that he was only a bit sloshed, so none of his decisions can really be called into question. He remembers in vibrant detail the whole ordeal with Cole, and in even more vibrant detail the resulting…encounter with Cas. Did he plan it? Hell no. Did he expect it? Not even a little. But is it the best thing to happen to him in a long damn time? Too fucking right it is.

How happy is Cas about the whole thing though? That’s the real question. Sure, he initiated this, and he sure as fuck had a good time while things were happening, but Dean has no idea how much he drank, and all he knows about Cas’ sex life is that it’s busy and includes men. Much as Dean didn’t start this, he sure as hell went along with it, and it kinda makes him worry that Cas is going to wake up and decide to pretend like it never happened, or worse, decide to acknowledge that it happened and that that’s a problem. He might ask Dean to move out, which won’t be a problem financially considering how much money he’s been saving since he moved in here but…fuck. Why does Dean’s dick have to make such terrible decisions?

Dean glances at the clock as he listens to the coffee maker percolate. It’s eleven, which is around the time Cas wakes up on a weekend when he _hasn’t_ gotten lucky the night before, so Dean figures he’s got at least an hour or so before the man drags his ass out of hibernation. With a less-than-subtle grin creeping across his bleary features, Dean scribbles a quick note and props it against the coffee maker, then grabs his keys and makes for the front door. He’s got a plan, and he should have _just_ enough time to accomplish it.

~*~

The house is not quiet when Dean returns, which is either a miracle or a catastrophe. That remains to be seen. He hip-checks the door closed behind him, grimacing as the muscles in his thighs protest and nearly refuse to operate. It’s been a long fucking time since Dean has ridden a cock with that much enthusiasm, and apparently he is not so young anymore, because some parts of his body are happier about it than others. On unsteady limbs, he strides through the house to the kitchen with a bag of groceries in one hand, wondering exactly what happened to Cas to change his normal morning grumpiness so dramatically. Normally, Cas can’t handle any kind of loudness in the morning, TV or music or extensive conversation or whatever else you might throw at him. Today though, as Dean returns with the full intentof making a Sunday breakfast so spectacular, Cas couldn’t _possibly_ want him to leave, he finds the house full of song, blaring from the speakers at a volume that might even be audible to the neighbors. If that weren’t enough of a surprise on its own, Dean comes round the corner into the kitchen to find Cas, fully upright despite only having had enough time for maybe half a cup of coffee, clad only in a pair of novelty boxers with donuts on them, dancing around and…oh God. He’s playing _air guitar._

Dean has never heard Cas sing before. He’s hummed along with music in movies or TV shows when it’s been something he’s particularly fond of, but he doesn’t sing. Despite that, Dean is entirely, completely, 100% sure this is not what he would sound like if he chose to sing at a normal time, because the notes he’s hitting are so high, Dean’s own voice hurts just listening to it. It’s got to be falsetto. No one with a speaking voice as deep as Cas’ could have a natural singing voice that high. And while he sings, he strums an invisible guitar and throws himself around on the linoleum like he could not possibly be in a better mood.

“ _I believe in a thing called love,”_ Cas sings, high and shrill and jarring, “ _just listen to the rhythm of my heart, there’s a chance we could make it now, we could rock until the sun goes down, I believe in a thing called looooooooove—_ AH!” Cas cries out, abandoning his air guitar in favor of throwing his hands in the air as he realizes he has an audience. “Jesus fuck, Dean when did you get back?!”

“Just now,” Dean lies.

“So…you’ve been there the whole time then.”

“Just for one verse and the chorus.” Around them, the Darkness’ lyrics still sound out almost so high that only dogs can hear them, but Cas’ voice has returned to the deep rumble Dean is used to.

“Oh,” Cas mumbles, blushing. “I read your note,” he explains.

“Is that so?” Dean replies dumbly. Obviously, he read the note. Cas goes right for the coffee maker the second he wakes up in the morning. There’s no way he missed it. What Dean’s curious about is what he _thought_ about the note.

“Yes,” Cas tells him casually. “The whole thing.”

“Cool,” Dean says, reaching into the fridge to grab the carton of eggs. He’s not going to ask. He’s not. He just isn’t. He’s going to make bacon and waffles with whipped cream and strawberries, and he’s going to wait for Cas to say whatever he’s going to say on the subject. He pulls the waffle iron out of the cupboard and plugs it in, then busies himself with making batter. There’s bacon to fry, and waffles to make. He’s not gonna ask.

Cas moves over to the coffee maker to pour another cup, raising the mug to his lips and drinking deeply. “Yep,” he replies. “Definitely cool.” He walks over to where Dean’s standing, drops a scrap of paper on the counter beside his measuring cups, and rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder like he does this all the time and it’s totally not weird to be all up in his roommate’s personal space. Dean wipes his hands off on a dish towel, trying to ignore the fact that he can feel Cas pressed up against his back, and picks up the note.

The first part of it is no surprise being that Dean’s the one that wrote it, but he reads it anyway to remind himself of the exact wording.

_Last night was excellent. Much prefer being in your room making noise than in my room listening to it. Not sure what else was on your laundry list, but I’m down to try and work through it whenever you are. Or not. Whatever. Gone to get bacon. I won’t be gone long._

In retrospect, Dean thinks he probably sounded like an idiot leaving that note, but whatever. It’s done now. Cas knows he’s on board for fooling around, and the rest of the note makes it pretty fucking clear what Cas thinks of that.

  * _I wanna blow you in the shower. Preferably as soon as possible._
  * _I can think of like ten different ways I want to fuck you and I wasn’t even thinking that hard so there’s probably more_
  * _I have like six months of really dirty fantasies in my brain that won’t even fit on this page but trust me when I tell you they are things you are going to enjoy_
  * _I really hope this doesn’t make things weird between us because I really enjoy your cooking and your company. There’s probably some sort of arrangement that exists where you cook for me and we spend time together and live together and have a lot of really good sex. I don’t know for sure but I bet we can figure it out._



Dean blinks twice just to make sure his brain isn’t playing tricks on him, then turns to face Cas. Cas doesn’t bother getting out of his space for even a second. If anything, he crowds closer, backing Dean up against the counter and kissing him almost immediately. It’s soft and sweet and he tastes like coffee, and Dean can’t get enough.

“Cool,” Cas murmurs. “So…bacon and waffles?”

“Bacon and waffles,” Dean repeats, feeling his cheeks flush.

Maybe this will go okay after all.

Cas puts on more music at a slightly more reasonable volume, this time opting to hang around drinking coffee and chatting with Dean while he cooks instead of the world-class air guitar performance he was putting on earlier. Soon the kitchen is full of delicious scents, and Dean’s belly starts to rumble. The bacon sizzles and the waffles bake up light and fluffy, and Cas keeps his coffee mug refilled every time it starts to dwindle, so it’s a pretty excellent Sunday breakfast. When the food’s ready, they claim their places at the table to attack it. Cas drowns his waffles in syrup and cuts off a big bite, moaning wantonly at the flavor. Dean figures he should probably get used to those sounds, so he takes it as a complement.

“I wasn’t asleep, you know,” Cas informs him suddenly, leaving Dean confused. He stares at Cas questioningly, his mouth too full of bacon to form an actual inquiry, but Cas takes his meaning. “When Cole left my room. I wasn’t asleep.”

“O…kay?” Dean replies when he’s able. The entire thing kind lacks context.

“I went out with the intention of coming home with someone. Obviously. And I was even planning on sleeping with him, but then I ran into you there and, I don’t know, it made me think if you were into guys then I might have a chance, and that seemed a whole lot more appealing than some guy I don’t even know. So I was just going to leave without him and try to get an idea of whether you might be into me, but he got in the cab and…I panicked.”

Dean laughs, nearly spitting coffee all over the table. “You pretending to fall asleep is panicking?”

“It seemed like the best idea at the time,” Cas says, shrugging. “It got him out of my room. I assumed he went home.”

“He did not,” Dean informs him firmly.

“Yeah I caught that.” Cas grimaces. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Dean says, shuddering a bit at the memory. “Okay, it’s not fine. It’s fucking skeevy, but that’s on Cole, not you. Just…if you’re gonna bring home strays in future, maybe escort them to the door so they don’t end up in my bed?”

Cas smiles softly, looking almost bashful. “I don’t know why I’d want to bring home strays at all if my super-hot roommate is going to make me birthday waffles and let me blow him in the shower.”

“Wait,” Dean blurts out, “that’s today?”

“Yeah,” Cas says with a laugh. “I told you it was this weekend.” There’s a frown on Dean’s face before he can put a stop to it. “I’m sorry. I must have forgotten. I didn’t get you anything.”

Cas shrugs. “Kinda feel like you did.” He gestures to the plate in front of him, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “And if you still feel like you want to make a bigger deal of my birthday, I’ve got a whole laundry list of ways you can go about it.”

“Sounds like a pretty good way to spend a Sunday,” Dean agrees. Before he knows it, there’s whipped cream being smeared on his face, and with the way Cas leans over to lick it off, it’s only a matter of time before breakfast turns into something way more physical, and Dean can’t think of a single reason to complain.

~*~

The following Saturday, the headboard in Cas’ bedroom slams into the wall just as hard as it has any of the previous Saturdays. It’s just as loud and it goes on for just as long, and there’s probably even more moaning, but for once, Dean doesn’t mind. That probably has something to do with the fact that this time, at least half the moans are coming from his throat, and when the headboard slams against the wall, it’s because Cas’ hips are slamming into Dean’s. And it’s so, so much better than listening to the sound effects through the wall, and it’s so, so much better than Pornhub gay and masturbation.

“Touch yourself,” Cas growls.

Dean gladly complies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things that happen in this fic that are either inspired by real life or lifted directly out of my own bizarre experiences:  
> • I once lived in a glass-stucco house across the street from a hospital. The front yard was bordered by a poorly maintained chain link fence, the grass was dead and dry and too tall, and the driveway was perpetually occupied by a green and white VW van stacked nearly to the ceiling with boxes of, for lack of a more eloquent term, shit. There was also an old safe in the back yard, the door to which lay some several feet away, and no one knew how or why the safe came to be, why the door was removed, or why no one ever got rid of it. The landlord (who was an angry old lady who lived in a house directly behind mine, and NOT a super-hot stoner with sex hair and a penchant for bacon) was no help.  
> • The owner of the VW van had been some girl who skipped out on her last month of rent and just…ghosted. I ran into her at in a fucking drum circle at a 4:20 celebration one year. Turns out she was my ex room-mate’s ex boyfriend’s adopted sister’s friend’s girlfriend or some shit. ANYWAY. I was complaining about the van and she was like OMG that’s my van. We made her get rid of it because seriously. Probably full of rats.  
> • The guy who left his pants behind was a real guy. It was February. We’re still not sure how that went for him.  
> • Guys had a habit of leaving things behind there actually. Between myself and the girl I lived with, we had like three pairs of pants, a belt or two, some underwear, a few pairs of socks, and a pair of pants that were ACTUALLY a bedsheet stapled together to make big baggy pants because I brought home a guy dressed like Toad from Super Mario Brothers one Halloween.  
> • The “do me a favor” guy is real. I wish I was making that up. So does the girl he asked for a favor.  
> • And the entire story about the “just touch it” guy is true, right up until the part where he gets kicked out. Then it becomes pure fiction. Also Dean was WAY, WAY more eloquent than I was. I might have been a little bit more profane. I might have uttered threats. I’ll never tell.
> 
> And really, this entire fic was just an excuse to tell the story of the "just touch it, your roommate doesn't have to know" guy. So thank you for this opportunity. It's been excellent.


End file.
